December-Part 2

The week before christmas was oh so hard on me.

First, the bairn ended up with Strep throat. I do believe we ran on about 4 hours sleep for a couple of days, which means I lost a couple of days. Not good when you are the Planner Of Everything, particularly at Christmas time. I have a tendency to plot my days to the hour. It’s bad, I know, but it comes from almost 20 years of being a hairdresser (aka self-appointed Coiffeurist to the Stars)(and their dogs) and having ran late ONE time early in my career with a client that reamed me out and said he could never come back because “his time was too precious to sit and wait.” Read that as self-important prick that scarred 23-year-old me forever. Not really, but thanks, famous old-time CBC news anchor! So the boy went on antibiotics to cure that up. All good.

 At the same time, my friend… Well, I really need to tell you about my friend. I was a bridesmaid for her and about a year later, my hubby and I decided to get married. I didn’t want her to fuss and it was a private affair, so I phoned her and said “Will you be my witness?” Without a beat she said, “Yes!!! What did you do?” Now, there are friends, and then there are friends who will cover for you without thinking about it. She’s one of those. We’ve wept together, cheered each other, and held hands when it felt like no one else was there. She and her hubby tried for a long time to get pregnant and this year, lo and behold, they did. They have a small, impatient little boy, named Noah. He kicked the door open to get out 14 weeks early. He’s very tiny, but he’s a fighter. This is one of those times when I feel so powerless and I know there is nothing I can say or do to make it better. But, my dear ducks, I know how good-hearted you all are. I know you all have hearts as big as anything. So please pray for this baby and his family for me, will you? Take one minute, and send all the energy you can muster. He has great parents and he is much-loved. I can’t wait to see them all at home and happy and healthy.

On to Christmas day. Lots of fun for us to watch the boy with his gifts. Until about four o’clock, when he decided to try to turn inside out. For eight hours. I guess we’re lucky, this being our first vomitous christmas and all. I’ve heard some children actually seem to plan on getting puking sick at every family get together. Just to get attention. And to be assholes.

Sadly, my mother and I both got it on the 28th. Now I don’t know about you, but I personally think that vomiting anywhere but in your own home is best left to teenaged binge drinkers. I like my own toilet, with my own bed nearby. Because I don’t like spewing. It pisses me off. And hearing my mother retch did not help matters any. I lay limply in the bed that night, thinking “This is the shittiest christmas ever and I would like to kill everyone now.”

I didn’t. I was too weak to go on a murderous rampage. But, there’s always next year, right?

All in all, a weird couple of weeks. Emotionally and physically exhausting. The same for all of you, I’m sure. So I think we should make a deal. Lets all say ‘Fuck this shit’ save our money, and meet up somewhere warm and have a few nice cocktails and a foot massage. Sound good? I thought so.

Chill, People!!!

And no puking.

December-Part One

I’m home!!!!!!!

Oh home! How I missed you! If I could hug a house I would, that’s how goddamn happy I am to be home!

We went to the ‘Chewan for our lovely holiday visit. Nothing like driving 5 hours across bald, scrubby prairie to help one to understand the concept of horizon. It should be a very Zen experience. However, try doing it in a fully loaded Outback, with an almost seven-year old, who is perpetually in motion, a twelve week old kitten, a hundred and ten pound Shepard cross, and a thirteen pound lap dog.

I think we were an hour into the trip when the son started his plaintive calls of, get ready, “Are we there yet?” No shit. Every twenty minutes. Followed closely by “I’m borrrrrrred!” Look at the scenery, son. “What scenery???” Exactly.

Now, add in the big dog. She has always been a back seat driver. She cannot lay down and enjoy the trip. Oh no. She must get her head and upper body right between the buckets so she can see out the windshield and assess how well you are driving. This is very exciting to the old girl and the more excited she gets, the more she pants, therefore, the more she drools. As you are motoring along, your arm is getting wetter and stickier with each passing moment. Whats funny is that she is so big and sits so erect and close to your right shoulder, I’m certain it looks like some strange two-headed conjoined beast twin driving our auto. Either that or everyone thinks we have an extraordinarily ugly daughter. Who has a drooling problem.  

The small dog (we think he is a Pug/Jack Russell cross. A Jug, if you will) has a rather high-strung personality. This manifests itself in a non-stop vibratory shiver while in the car. The poor thing is a nervous wreck. He acts as if he is about to be raped and castrated at any given moment. It goes like this: Shake, open eyes, quickly smell penis, nutsack and anus to make sure they are all still there, give a dirty look to the closest human so they know you are watching them, close eyes, shake for ten minutes, repeat.

The kitten was an awesome traveller. She just hid until we arrived at our destination. We took her as a surprise present for my folks (read that as getting rid of her) but they were having none of it. We had a rousing game of ‘nonchalantly throw the cat in the car, nonchalantly throw the cat back in the house’ as we were saying our goodbyes. My parents won. Pricks.

The top cat didn’t come. I tried to get him in the cat carrier, but he is huge and wouldn’t fit. It was like trying to stuff a horse into a Corvette. But with claws. I decided to just throw him into the car and let him ride free. He escaped as soon as hubby opened the hatch, and it was a sight to behold, watching my poor man fighting with a huge ball of flab and fangs. Honestly, I don’t know who was more petrified, the man or the cat. So I got out and caught the miserable sonofabitch (the cat, not hubby) and brought him struggling and fighting back to the car, which I then quickly threw him into and tried to slam the door. Not surprisingly, he had his tail half out. Did you here the shriek over at your place? I opened the door as fast as I shut it and that cat flew out so fast, I didn’t have time to see where he went. Our neighbour let him in and fed him but he is still not speaking to me.

But we made it home today. I have had a hell of a couple of weeks. This is going to be a long one, so I’m breaking it up for you. Part two of it all tomorrow. 

Did I mention I’m glad to be home? *Hugging house*

 And does anyone need a cat?

Not Invisible

This is not what I had intended to write. Not at all.

But, I keep getting notice on my stats (bloggy thing) of people finding my blog using the search term, “Am I invisible”. And my friends, every stinking time I read that, my heart just breaks a bit. So, here goes.

No. You are not invisible. You might feel like that from time to time, or maybe you’re feeling it a lot. But trust me. You are not.

Because I see you. I noticed you. Right away. I know you are here. And believe or not, I care that you are here.

You may not believe this, but someone loves you. Likely a few people. Do you think for one second that your presence isn’t noticed by them? Or your absence? I’ll bet in your absence, they miss you. You just don’t notice.

Maybe the world feels against you, no one hears you calling out in your pain. Trust me. That’s a lie. Your brain is very good at lying to you when you are in pain. Don’t believe it.

Not invisible. 

Tell yourself that everyday. Yell it if you have to.

We, all people, are honoured to have you here. We don’t want you anywhere else.

I know sometimes it’s just so hard to get up in the morning and you wonder to yourself ,”Why, why, why do I feel so alone?”

I’ve been there. Mama duck has had her moments, to be sure.

Not invisible.

Even the simple matter of reaching out to your computer renders you visible. If you’ve got no one else to talk to, talk there. Look until you find it. You will.

I see you. And you can do it, Honey.

Hold fast. Hold fast.

This life is beautiful, if you let it be. You can do it, Honey.

This life is easy. And you are not invisible.

If you need me, you know where I am.

I see you.

Not invisible.

Autumn Joy

The older I get, the more I love autumn. Fall makes me feel busy and thankful. I like the crispness of the air, the colour of the leaves and the bounty of the summer. It’s the legacy of the farm child. So in that spirit, I’m going to share my week with you.

This is the view from my front deck.

Good morning.

This is where I walk. My neighbor’s land, right next to our place.

About 200 steps from the house.

The odd coyote and deer are my walking companions.

At the top of this hill, in the trees, I found an orchard.

 I glanced into the bushes and found loads of saskatoons, chokecherry and high bush cranberries. So I picked for a few minutes.

Lavender jelly and Cranberry jelly. Fake rooster.

Why can't I find lip gloss this colour?

 The lavender was from my herb bed and the cranberries from mama nature. I love that! It was a chore cleaning them as they smell like feet before they are cooked, but I picked the flowers off the lavender after I did it so I mellowed out and smelled good. My boys even helped out with picking and it became a lovely family outing. It was a peaceful week.

Some folks have been finding my blog using the search term ‘Joy’. I like that. And I love free berries. Hey, why don’t you come for tea and scones?

I have some really good jelly I’d like you to try. I hear it brings joy.

 
 
 

Farmers

It is ten o’clock on this lovely calm August evening. My son is abed, it’s cool and dark here in the country. The time of night I relax and review the day before slumber.

Sounds peaceful, doesn’t it?

Except for the fucking farmer who is banging away at some piece of equipment in the field by my fucking house.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am from multi-generational farm stock and I grew up in a farming community. I have wrestled sheep, milked goats (gross), talked to pigs (good listeners) and I know my way around a cow. I hate chickens. They scare the shit out of me. I had an encounter with one that I swear growled and I’ve never been the same. I know wheat from barley, oats from hay, and I can look at a crop and tell if it’s good or not. I am fluent in farm. I also speak a bit of hillbilly.

But the farmers? Crazy sumbitches.

You know I’m talking to you. If you are of farm stock, you probably have a birthday either nine months after seeding, calving or harvest. Those farmers get excited when they are working. Trust me, growing up where I did, you could not wear a skirt in planting season. Too dangerous.

If you are a farmer, you also spend a huge chunk of time looking at the sky. If you are not a farmer, for god sake don’t interrupt while sky gazing. That is not cool. He needs to understand the horizon, and having some city slicker come in and disturb this very important hour of his workday may result in him asking if you’d like to ride a ‘tame bull.’  Take heed, slicker! There is no such thing. He’s fucking with you for his amusement.

Right now, it’s baling. Not harvest. The food for the cattle? Funny thing: the stuff we eat called meat? Made by vegetarian animals. Go figure.

Anyway, the chaps around here are hell-bent. They are working. Hard. And long. I know how that sentence sounded but get your mind outta the gutter.

While they disturb my peace, I’m okay with it. I am a Canadian. A prairie girl. I understand the concept of making food. I understand that as much as this government tries to bullshit us, if the farmers have a bad year we will all have a bad year.

But really. Farmers, please. I understand the urgency but for god sake! It’s ten o’clock. Could you do it a little quieter?

No, I don’t want to ride your bull.